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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702626">just hold me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere'>mysafeplaceishere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Detailed Gore, F/M, Fluff, a soft cheek kiss, danny being soft, just this once, reader has lots of stress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:01:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The stress is eating you alive and there’s nothing that can help except being held by the one that causes it. </p><p>You would be surprised how well it melts away when his arms hold you close.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>just hold me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Danny may be the worst out of all the killers but he can be soft sometimes. </p><p>And I live by that.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So much chatter and you don’t hear any of it. Tens of voices surround the fire but all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and the beat of your heart against your rib cage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your hands tremble with the adrenaline surge from the trial and you have to cradle them into your chest to keep anyone from seeing. It doesn’t stop a few of your closest friends to notice, but luckily for you it didn’t seem too important to ask. Not like you wanted to talk about how grotesque this latest trial was anyway. It makes your stomach lurch just thinking about the way those bloody hands grabbed at you.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What keeps grating on your nerves is the fact that everyone thought it would be “fun, a nice change of pace” to partake in some alcoholic beverages given by The Entity for the supposed holidays. You didn’t have any problem with it until a few started to slur their words together, and the way their eyes glazed over made your blood grow cold. It isn’t that you don’t trust them, but you definitely don’t want to be around a bunch of drunks after surviving a difficult trial. Parties aren’t your kind of relaxation and the lingering headache you have would get worse with drinking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your joints ache after pushing yourself too hard, the splitting headache in your skull makes even the light of the fire too bright, and you still haven’t been able to clean the blood off your hands. The blood still smells fresh and it takes everything in you not to vomit. The smell of blood or iron doesn’t bother you—hasn’t for a long time. What does bother you is the fact that the blood isn’t yours and it doesn’t belong to another survivor. </span>
</p><p class="p2">Your eyes wander down to your bloodied hands and another tremble ripples down your back and through your fingertips.</p><p class="p2">You hadn’t <em>meant </em>to hurt him. </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, that’s a lie. You did want to hurt him but only enough to get away, not completely impale him though the middle. Panic made you react. That is what you keep chanting to yourself over and over—he wasn’t your Ghostface that trial. There was no joking around while he gave chase, no stalking, no reactions when stunned. It was pure bloodlust the moment you two had crossed paths.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You don’t expect special treatment just because he’s fond of you, protects you from other killers, gives you creature comforts as gifts to show his affections. A trial is a trial; he told you that himself. Just because he kisses on your neck in secret doesn’t mean he won’t play his part in this endless game of life and death. A job is a job in his eyes and you’ve been told that a million times. </span>
</p><p class="p2">This time, though? That wasn’t Danny, or maybe it was in some twisted way. You don’t know. All you can remember is throwing a pallet down over his head, watching it splinter into pieces after he kicked it, and you knew if you hadn’t done something it would have ended badly on your part. You were on death hook. So against the survivor rule book, you picked up a piece of broken wood and drove it into his middle.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mixed noise of pain and surprise that left him echoes through your head. It makes you feel sick. Hurting people isn’t something you enjoy, even if the person you impaled on a pike deserves it. Although he most definitely deserves it, you don’t like hurting the people you care for—even if they’re a deranged murder. He pushed you hard enough that fear clouded your judgment and you did something punishable by The Entity himself. It’s against the rules to fight back that way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What is It going to do with you? You have been through enough torture, emotionally and physically. You can’t take another beating tonight. Danny did a good job of doing that himself whether he knows it or not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You okay, Kid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your skin jumps at the sudden hand landing on your shoulder. The fingers are well worn down but the grip is soft and you immediately relax once realizing it’s a trusted friend. Your eyes flicker up to meet Bill’s concerned expression and you offer a soft, sad smile. You make no objections when he lowers himself down to the ground to sit with you. His presence makes you feel safe and you take to that feeling by scooting up under his arm. He welcomes you without any fuss. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“You aren’t drinking?” You ask when realizing he doesn’t have any sort of liquor in his hand like the rest.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers lift to take the lit cigarette out from between his lips before answering in a low, fatherly tone. “Not tonight. Someone has to watch out for these kids. They might wander off or worse.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You hum to confirm you heard what he said. The smell of cigarette smoke that lingers on him brings you back to when you went to gas stations with your friends. This one specific gas station always had someone smoking just outside the doors and you would be greeted with the smell of burning cigarettes and off-brand cologne. While it was distasteful to you back then, now it brings you back to a better time. It’s a small, faint memory but you still cling to it like it might slip between your fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You miss the way his eyes glance down at your dirty hands. After taking one last inhale of his cigarette, he flicks it to the side with a question that makes your whole body tense.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why haven’t you cleaned your hands? Everyone else washed off and is enjoying themselves, yet you sit alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your face contorts into something more strained at the edges. Just that one question brings back the way his blood felt squelching between your fingers. The mask makes your relationship with Ghostface tedious, strains and stretches the intimacy out so far it might break. Sometimes you feel like he isn’t human at all, but that moment you’re thankful you couldn’t see his face. He is more monster than man when the mask in on, and yet you still can’t help feel horrible for hurting a monster.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s pure evil but even evil beings feel pain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hurt someone,” you blurt, completely lost in your own thoughts to care about what is coming out of your mouth, “and I feel sick. I wouldn’t keep any of the drinks down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You can see he wants to ask more questions but refrains by pursing his lips. One of his hands comes to rest on your back and begins to rub comforting circles to ease your tense body language. You end up melting into his side. Bill never did like prying into things he knows doesn’t want to be heard. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“No reason in beating yourself up about it. Just apologize,” he suggests, tipping his head back to gaze at the sky.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Easier said than done. We don’t get a lot of chances to talk nowadays.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Not a lot of chances to talk, not a lot of chances for you to hold his face in your hands, not a lot of chances for him to kiss you until you’re breathless like he usually does. Trials keep you busy enough as it is and add that on top of trying to keep your forbidden relationship secret, there isn’t much time to sneak off unnoticed.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You know you made a mistake and should probably give him some space to process what happened. He probably didn’t see your unintentional betrayal coming, as ironic as it is. It’s his job to know everyone’s next move before even they know.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All you want to do is leave this party to find him. The Entity wouldn’t let his most prized killer bleed to death—you can relax knowing he isn’t dead. But if you had to guess? He isn’t happy. When Danny isn’t happy, it isn’t Danny anymore. Ghostface doesn’t take well to betrayal, accidental or not. He isn’t your goofy, lovable newspaper article writer when he lets the bloodlust take over his rational thoughts. Confronting him while he isn’t thinking straight would earn you more than a few bruises. Knowing that keeps you where you are now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bill raises a brow at your change in tone—going from exhausted to cautious. “I could pull them off to the side for you. I don’t mind stepping into whatever mess that is over there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your eyes flicker to the forest tree line and you bury your bottom lip under your teeth, anxiously chewing away the skin. The only way Bill could “pull them off to the side for you” is if he walked straight into that foliage and spent hours trying to find Danny’s well hidden cabin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Having been in that spot many a time, you wish that trek against no one. If he somehow managed to find said cabin, the person waiting inside wouldn’t take kindly to a stranger marching on his territory. It would end in bloodshed and you wouldn’t feel right sending your father figure to his demise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You won’t make Bill go get him, but you have nothing to lose. Searching for him would be better than sitting here watching your friends get black out drunk. Your worry usually overrides your better judgment and right now your worry wants to know how he is doing, consequences be overlooked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You slink out of Bill’s embrace and stand up to dust off your pants. His face shows a hint of suspicion but otherwise doesn’t keep you from leaving. Your eyes flicker over to the group of drunks to take in their wide, carefree smiles and hearty laughter with a frown of your own. You don’t want to make yourself the outcast on a once-in-a-lifetime night with drinks and celebration but there is an itch in the back of your mind that you have to scratch before letting yourself relax.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think I’m going to take a walk,” you cast a side eyed glance down at Bill, to which he waves his hand with a huff. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“I’ll be here taking care of these kids. If you hear screaming, assume I put one of them in a choke hold.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the first time since the trial, you let a genuine smile take over your face at his subtle threat. When he spots your change in attitude, he offers a lazy smirk before waving you away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get out of here. Just be careful, alright?” He raises a brow at you, eyes squinted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You hold your hands up in surrender. “I got you, Old Man. I won’t be too long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The conversation slows to an end when you twist on your heel to take a march for the tree line. Just to be sure he is going to be okay, you cast a glance over your shoulder to see he’s already hoisted himself up and over to the chaos. No killer would dare turn up at the campfire less they want to be attacked. Trials may have rules but when outside of one, the rules are limited. Should an unwanted guest make an appearance, all is fair in love and war on the survivor end. The Entity doesn’t approve of It’s food being toyed with unless given permission.</span>
</p><p class="p2">Bill is safe. They all are.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You break through the brush of the woods and immediately hug yourself, the loneliness of being alone tugging at your heartstrings. Being stuck around a bunch of people for forever really changes the outlook on extrovert and introvert. You used to enjoy being by your lonesome but now you feel unsafe. Eyes are everywhere.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The trail you follow isn’t so much of a trail but spotting things that are familiar to the eye. You remember Danny taking you through the way he finds his cabin without trouble: just look for the faint blade marks on the trees. He was able to find his way without any problems but he specifically made the marks for you. One might overlook the sweet gesture but you sure didn’t. Danny shows his love with gifts and acts of kindness, whether he considers them kindness or not doesn’t matter. You noticed he took time out of his day to make things easier for you to move.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Psychopathic romance at its finest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A chill ripples through you despite the air having no chill. You rub at your forearms with a frustrated exhale but keep trudging along. The walk isn’t soothing as you had hoped it would be and you can tell something is off by the hairs standing on the back of your neck. Still, you make no move to look behind you in fear you might see something you don’t want to be near. It’s better if you don’t know. Ignorance is bliss.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately, your ignorance is interrupted when an arm wraps around your middle and pulls you flush to a broad chest. You shriek at the tops of your lungs before another hand comes up to cup your mouth, promptly cutting off any noise. You begin to struggle with every ounce of energy you have left from the trial before a low voice growls in your ear. The rich tone of it makes you go limp in their arms. It is the same voice that taunts you, calms you, whispers to you in the dark on nights where everyone is asleep.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What has you so jumpy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he feels you aren’t struggling against his grip and clawing at the leather that separates your nails from his arm, his grip loosens to give you room to breathe. He doesn’t expect you to rip yourself away—you usually bury your face into his chest first chance you get. You immediately throw yourself forward and stumble over your feet trying to put good distance between the both of you. In your panic, you trip and land on your behind with a pained “oof.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You don’t take the time to dwell on the pain from falling and scramble back up to your feet, one arm held out to keep him at bay. Every inch of your skin burns like a wildfire during the summer underneath his unseen gaze. You can’t see his eyes from under that screaming mask but you know they’re observing your odd behavior. The last time you acted like this around him is when you met him for the first time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The silence that takes over is agonizing until the leather of his gloves squeak when his hands clench into fists. You take a step back when he takes a slow step forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why the <em>hell </em>are you pulling away from me? You know I don’t like when you do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The flaps of his costume whip side to side. They only do that when he feels deep irritation and uses those which connect him to The Entity to ground himself. Danny doesn’t like to lose his temper; he thinks it makes him look unsophisticated and sloppy. In a way, it does when you’re known as the killer that lets any insult slide your his back like melted snow. A lot angers Danny, but only a few things can make him fly into an uncontrollable rage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You swallow before answering. Trying to stop the waver of your voice is impossible. “I should be asking why you’re so close to the campfire. Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His chest deflates when he releases a heavy exhale. His shoulders are pulled back tight and if you didn’t know his body language so well, you wouldn’t notice his unusual posture in the first place. He doesn’t attempt to make another move for you but you know deep down in his core he wants to. Danny is a patient man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You answer my question first,” he subconsciously tilts his head at you, “and I might give you an answer, Princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your brows furrow together at the nickname. Now is not the time to be melting at the way it slips from his tongue in such a soft but demanding tone. If you weren’t being cautious with him at the moment, you might have fallen into his arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m...” you trail off, nibbling on your bottom lip, “worried. Are you mad?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m mad that I don’t have you in my arms right now,” he hisses back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He might be a master manipulator but pairing together how tight his body is wound and the breathlessness of his tone helps you relax. Danny isn’t here to wrap his hands around your throat and choke the life out of you in revenge for impaling him on a pike. He is one of your only places of comfort in this realm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not mad about the trial?” You blurt out, hands wringing together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The trial?” He repeats to confirm what you said, “You mean when you stabbed me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You offer him a stiff nod.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pause in his breathing makes your own breathing pause in anticipation. Maybe it would have been better if you pretended it never happened. Then again, the last time you tried to ignore something, you got in trouble for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your face prickles with warmth when he begins to chuckle. It’s a sound you don’t get to hear often but when you do, it makes your insides turn to mush. The deep dip of it sends goosebumps across your back every time. If only you could see his face when he laughs like that—part of you wonders if most of them are fake. This one sounds genuine to your ears, though.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even though you feel like you might melt into a puddle, the fear from a second ago grips you by the throat and squeezes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This <em>isn’t </em>funny, Danny! I <em>stabbed</em> you. The Entity is going to have my head. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to take it off first,” you raise your voice in pure panic. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Danny seems to find the situation incredibly funny and even goes as far to bend over, hands braced on his knees. When the initial shock of his laughter wears off, the stress from the trial, fearing for your life and never being able to sleep catches up with your psyche. Your friends are having fun and not worrying about anything right now without you. They probably don’t realize you’re gone. It’s like being slapped across the face. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes and you have to grit your teeth together to keep them from falling. Not that it does much good—they end up running down the slope of your face when you blink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t see how any of this is funny,” you manage to choke out through the tears, “I certainly don’t feel like laughing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You try to wipe away the moisture from your face with the backs of your hands but the more you try to hide the fact you’re crying, the heavier the burden feels. Every little stress you’ve felt since being swept away by the fog comes spilling out. Who knows how long it’s been since you last cried.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Danny isn’t laughing anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was worried you were seriously injured, you jerk! And now The Entity might punish me for acting out of line even when I didn’t mean to,” your bottom lip trembles, a sob on the cusp of leaving your mouth, “I was just <em>scared</em>. You weren’t being yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You desperately rub at your eyes in an attempt to cut off the emotions but your skin prickles with it. You feel stupid for letting it get this out of hand. Danny doesn’t do well with these kinds of things and has a particular hate for when people cry—except when when he’s inflicting pain on others. There is a probably an insult about your sensitivity on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out when you finally collect yourself together.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You flinch when a warm, gloveless hand grips your shoulder. The tears blur your vision and distort your surroundings but through the haze you can make out Danny’s bare face. You didn’t hear him take off the glove or his mask but you don’t mind seeing the human side of him for a change. His dark eyes, messy brown hair and clean shaven face eases the coil in your stomach. He doesn’t look angry, in fact, he looks almost sorry. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“You don’t have to worry about The Entity. I already took care of it,” he reassures you, his fingers digging into your shoulder.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then he’s leaning down and pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s a chaste kiss but it makes your chest flutter. His free hand reaches up to cradle your face and his thumb brushes away some of the tear trails, although it doesn’t much good. You just want to feel safe. Even if it’s for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just hold me,” you whisper through a sob.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest and this time you latch onto him like he might leave any second, gripping handfuls of his costume and pulling him in tight. You bury your face right under his collar bone and cry. It’s a messy, ugly cry that will leave your eyes swollen and your face red when all is said and done, but Danny doesn’t say a word about any of it. When you demanded to be held, he took it seriously. His arms are wound so tight around you it would be impossible to get away—but it’s now more than ever that you don’t feel the need to run.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You still have so many questions that need answered but right now it seems fitting to just let it go for another time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re an idiot,” you sob into his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives a thoughtful hum, smoothing your hair down with one hand. “I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But God do you love this idiot. </span>
</p>
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